


Mr. Uptown Cheekbones

by ZygomaticBliss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Group texts, M/M, Surprise Smut, Texting, Tumblr Prompt, only not really, surprise mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZygomaticBliss/pseuds/ZygomaticBliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt: "I was trying to take a sneeky picture of you because i told my friend about the hot guy on the train and she wanted to see but you totally noticed and yeah this is awkward" au</p><p>John really sucks at sneaking pics<br/>Sherlock doesn't really mind</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stuck in the Tube

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to usa-government for the Tumblr prompt

[Group Chat – **John** , Mike, Molly, Bill, Sarah]

_12:03 AM_

For fuck’s sake!

_12:04 AM_

wut? – Mike

_12:04 AM_

??? – Molly

_12:05 AM_

The fucking Tube got stopped up. We’re fucking trapped down here!

_12:06 AM_

Is everyone okay? – Molly

_12:06 AM_

Are you okay? – Sarah

_12:07 AM_

Ya, just routine maintenance shit, but seriously wtf?

_12:07 AM_

kinda showed ur hand eh sarah :) - Mike

_12:07 AM_

Shut up, Stamford – Sarah

_12:08 AM_

oooo SURNAMES – Bill

_12:08 AM_

i think u hit a nerve mate – Bill

_12:08 AM_

You too, Murray – Sarah

_12:09 AM_

Cut it out, guys – Molly

_12:09 AM_

Can we plz focus on ur poor, suffering friend languishing in the dimly lit, nearly abandoned, and broken-down Tube?

_12:10 AM_

nearly abandoned? – Mike

_12:10 AM_

who else is in th car w/ u? – Bill

_12:11 AM_

Its literally just me and this seriously uptown bloke

_12:11 AM_

Uptown as in fancy or uptown as in handsome? – Molly

_12:12 AM_

Bit o both, rly. Hes got the strangest face, but it kinda works for him

_12:12 AM_

lookin 4 ur nxt victim molls? – Bill

_12:12 AM_

You wanna pull your head out of your arse, Bill? – Sarah

_12:12 AM_

sry – Bill

_12:13 AM_

Are you still stuck, John? – Sarah

_12:13 AM_

YES! I’m so bored I’m considering talking to Mr. Uptown Cheekbones over there

_12:13 AM_

…That came out gayer than I thought it would be

_12:13 AM_

thats ok. were used 2 u coming out gayer thn we thought u would b – Mike

_12:14 AM_

Piss off, Mike.

_12:14 AM_

;) – Mike

_12:14 AM_

What was that about his cheekbones, though? – Molly

_12:14 AM_

ur awfully interested – Bill

_12:15 AM_

You got something you want to say, Bill? – Sarah

_12:16 AM_

sry – Bill

_12:16 AM_

u gotta get over harry, mike. not molls fault both watsons wave the rainbow flag - Mike

_12:16 AM_

Im with Mike. Plz get over my sister

_12:17 AM_

Actually, though, hes kinda ur type, Molls. Tall, dark, and faintly mysterious

_12:17 AM_

He kinda looks like a more posh Tom, rly

_12:17 AM_

More alien, too

_12:17 AM_

aliens, scully? – Bill

_12:18 AM_

Fuck u, Im definitely Mulder

_12:18 AM_

But it wouldnt surprise me if he were involved in some Xfiles level shite

_12:19 AM_

Okay, you have officially peaked my interest. Pic? – Sarah

_12:19 AM_

Ya pics or it didnt happen – Bill

_12:19 AM_

Ooh, please! – Molly

_12:20 AM_

Guys, u know I suck at sneaking pics

_12:20 AM_

And he looks like he could lock me up in a dark room somewhere and have someone kick my head in

_12:21 AM_

im cutting off ur access 2 criminal investigation shows john – Mike

_12:21 AM_

and ur overruled mate – Mike

_12:21 AM_

show us or well spam ur inbox – Bill

_12:22 AM_

Guys

_12:22 AM_

Show us - Molly

_12:22 AM_

show us - Bill

_12:22 AM_

show us – Mike

_12:22 AM_

Guys stop

_12:22 AM_

Show us - Sarah

_12:22 AM_

show us – Bill

_12:23 AM_

Fine!

_12:23 AM_

Yay! – Molly

_12:23 AM_

:) – Sarah

_12:23 AM_

man u give in easy – Bill

_12:23 AM_

good luck mate – Mike

_12:24 AM_

I hate you all.

_12:24 AM_

ya ya ya just get th pic – Bill

_12:24 AM_

Gimme a sec

_12:25 AM_

Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap!

_12:25 AM_

What? - Sarah

_12:25 AM_

I forgot to turn off the shutter sound

_12:25 AM_

OMG! - Molly

_12:25 AM_

Hes coming over here

_12:25 AM_

aim for the eyes mate - Mike

_12:25 AM_

Tell Harry I hate her

_12:26 AM_

she knows mate - Bill


	2. Accurate Titles Bloke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Lestrade's side of the Tube

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely kudos and comments!

[Text Conversation: **Sherlock** , Lestrade]

_11:59 PM_

Sherlock have you got anything on that double murder yet? – GL

_11:59 PM_

The obvious murder-suicide of the lesbian and her married girlfriend? I solved that one at the crime scene, weren’t you paying attention?

_12:00 AM_

I paid attention! All I heard was you going on about the angle of the gun and something about violets. I didn’t know you’d solved the bloody case. – GL

_12:00 AM_

Then you obviously weren’t paying enough attention.

_12:01 AM_

… I could bloody strangle you sometimes – GL

_12:01 AM_

Strangulation is boring, Detective Inspector. If you’re going to murder me, at least make it interesting.

_12:02 AM_

Can you at least come down to the station and walk me through it? The case doesn’t end for all of us when you’ve figured it out – GL

_12:02 AM_

On the Tube there as we speak. I will be approximately 20 minutes

_12:02 AM_

I’m a bit surprised you can’t tell me to the second – GL

_12:02 AM_

Too many variables for that much precision

_12:03 AM_

In any case, I’ll have to push my estimate back at least half an hour

_12:03 AM_

It seems there is some sort of delay on the track. Maintenance, apparently

_12:04 AM_

Oh, God. You’re not going to murder anyone from boredom, are you? – GL

_12:04 AM_

There’s only one other person here. I couldn’t possibly get away with it

_12:04 AM_

Not reassuring, Sherlock – GL

_12:04 AM_

That was a lie in any case. There are many ways I could in theory get away with murdering the other man in the car, especially since he seems unnaturally fixated on his phone screen and I know more ways out of a Tube carriage than most would believe exist, but I don’t feel particularly inclined to put so much effort into such a useless exercise.

_12:05 AM_

That’s not any better – GL

_12:05 AM_

And I still can’t get over how quickly you text – GL

_12:05 AM_

It and e-mails are my primary system of communication with the outside world. Do you really believe I would not master it to the full extent of my ability?

_12:06 AM_

No not really – GL

_12:06 AM_

My God this is boring

_12:07 AM_

Don’t you have that mind thing you can go to? – GL

_12:07 AM_

My Mind Palace? I never access it in public. Draws too much attention and leaves me too vulnerable to attack

_12:07 AM_

Does the other bloke with you really look like he’d attack you? – GL

_12:07 AM_

He appears capable but unwilling. I don’t think I’m any more than a prop in the background to him at present. Mostly he appears simultaneously frustrated with the delay and exasperated with his ex for being overly solicitous.

_12:08 AM_

How could you possibly know any of that? – GL

_12:08 AM_

Simple enough if you know where to look. When he first came on the Tube, he was uncomfortable, especially with the abandoned nature of the car, but not unduly so. When the delay was announced, he cursed under his breath and a line appeared in the center of his forehead. He has looked at where the time displays on his phone three times in the past minute. Ergo, frustration.

_12:09 AM_

I think anyone could tell about the frustration part through sheer empathy, Sherlock – GL

_12:09 AM_

Then why did you ask?

_12:09 AM_

I was more wondering about the ex part – GL

_12:09 AM_

He’s obviously in a group chat – texting four different people without changing the screen at all – and he got two responses about his announcement of his entrapment here. One was from another friend, but one inspired clear exasperation tinged with guilt and a slight cringe later when he received later texts from others in the group chat mocking either him or her about the slight blunder.

_12:10 AM_

Him or her? You can’t tell if the bloke is gay or not? – GL

_12:10 AM_

Honestly, Lestrade, he’s bisexual. The closest I can tell is that the ex is female, but I’m not definite about that

_12:10 AM_

Hold on, he doesn’t know you’re staring at him, does he? – GL

_12:10 AM_

Have you ever heard of peripheral vision, Detective Inspector?

_12:11 AM_

Besides, he doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on if he knew, since he just started texting about me as well

_12:11 AM_

Seriously? – GL

_12:11 AM_

Am I ever anything but?

_12:11 AM_

Actually, this is interesting. I can just make out what he’s texting about me

_12:12 AM_

What??? – GL

_12:12 AM_

Do I really have a strange face, Lestrade?

_12:12 AM_

Stop reading his texts, Sherlock! – GL

  _12:12 AM_

Well, he’s not texting now. His friends have just gotten into a row. Something to do with his brother, but I can’t tell exactly how

_12:13 AM_

Okay, that’s enough about the poor bloke. Jesus, Sherlock! – GL

_12:13 AM_

He just called me Mr. Uptown Cheekbones

_12:13 AM_

I don’t even know what that means

_12:13 AM_

Lestrade?

_12:14 AM_

Forget my last text. Oh my God, I want to know everything about this bloke. Seriously, deduce him – GL

_12:14 AM_

It shouldn’t have taken you that long to type that out

_12:14 AM_

No, I was too busy choking with laughter over my coffee – GL

_12:15 AM_

Find someone else to be a source of entertainment. They’re back on the issue with his brother

_12:15 AM_

Don’t you have an actual job to do anyway?

_12:15 AM_

Can’t work without your statement, can’t get your statement without making sure you don’t murder Accurate Titles Bloke – GL

_12:15 AM_

For Christ’s sake, Lestrade, Accurate Titles Bloke?

_12:16 AM_

SISTER!!! There’s always something

_12:16 AM_

Wait, are you admitting to being wrong? – GL

_12:16 AM_

Never

_12:17 AM_

I don’t understand. One minute he’s complimenting me, the next he’s saying I look like a posh alien

_12:17 AM_

He’s not wrong – GL

_12:17 AM_

Oh, shut up!

_12:17 AM_

Wait, how did he compliment you? – GL

_12:17 AM_

He said I was one of his friend’s “type” and called me “tall, dark, and faintly mysterious”

_12:18 AM_

How has he not asked you out yet? – GL

_12:18 AM_

How have we not lost interest in this completely irrelevant stranger?

_12:18 AM_

In fact, how has the Tube NOT STARTED WORKING YET???

_12:19 AM_

Defensive, Sherlock? – GL

_12:19 AM_

NO

_12:19 AM_

Really? You seem it to me. Are you sure you don’t want to aks him out yourself? – GL

_12:19 AM_

Your idiocy has exceeded previous expectations, Lestrade. Not only do you seem to believe I want ANYTHING to do with a random stranger on the Tube whose obsession with me seems far less than what any sane individual would consider “charming” or any such attractive quality, but your grammar skills have dissolved to the levels of preadolescent children

_12:20 AM_

Exhaustion causes typos, not stupidity, and I’m not sure you don’t want to talk to this bloke – GL

_12:20 AM_

Which only goes to prove that you are indeed an idiot

_12:20 AM_

Besides, this man clearly surrounds himself with imbeciles. They want him to photograph me for whatever reason, and he seems to believe that such an act would get him killed.

_12:21 AM_

Sherlock, I know what you look like, and I want a picture of the posh, alien Mr. Uptown Cheekbones – GL

_12:21 AM_

You are not making a very good case as an intelligent person, Detective Inspector

_12:21 AM_

AND I know you well enough to know that you’re sulking right now, which to any random stranger, would appear as though you were plotting murder – GL

_12:21 AM_

I do not sulk

_12:22 AM_

BULLSHIT – GL

_12:22 AM_

Has he taken your picture yet? – GL

_12:22 AM_

No, he said he didn’t want to, but his friends are repeatedly texting him, so I anticipate him giving in to their demands shortly

_12:23 AM_

Tell you what: I just got wind of one of those suicides you’ve been pissing me off trying to get a part of, only this one left a note. If you catch him taking the photo, not only let him know you saw him take it, but offer to take a selfie with him. Only when you send me the picture of you and him in the same frame will I let you in on the suicides

_12:23 AM_

WHAT

_12:24 AM_

LESTRADE NO

_12:24 AM_

Those are my conditions. Take them or leave them – GL

_12:24 AM_

You can’t solve those suicides on your own! You need me!

_12:24 AM_

I think I can handle one case without you. Question is, can you handle the time it’ll take for me to find a new case this interesting? – GL

_12:24 AM_

DAMN YOU

_12:25 AM_

Fine, he’s taking the picture. I hate you so very, very much


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally get that picture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I am astounded at the response you guys have given this fic! Thank you so much - every comment and kudo makes me do a little happy dance in my chair and made (nearly) completing this thing possible!

John locked his phone and put it in his pocket, surreptitiously wiping his hands on his jeans before looking up at the intimidating Mr. Uptown Cheekbones. He gaped for a second at how bloody _tall_ this bloke was – he positively towered over John – and he silently fumed, knowing that the man would still be too tall, even if he stood. In the second before the man came to a halt in front of him, John reminded himself sternly not to flirt or stare overmuch. Even if this flawless statue of a man was used to as much ogling as John suspected, he doubted it would be appreciated in this context.

“Sorry, mate,” he said preemptively before the man had chosen his words. “My friends dared me to take a picture of you. I can delete it if you like.” The man fidgeted for a second, obviously surprised by John’s upfront apology and unsure of what to say in response.

“What is a selfie?” the man blurted, then blinked as if he wasn’t quite sure where the question had come from. John stopped himself from laughing. If he had looked like an alien before, all sharp angles and single-minded concentration, he looked like a small, fumbling puppy now.

“It’s when you take a picture of yourself with your phone, usually if you’ve got a backward-facing camera or a mirror,” he explained patiently, again restraining the giggle that tried to escape at the comic look of distaste and bewilderment that crossed his once-dignified face. “May I ask why you want to know?”

The emotion dropped from the man’s face, replaced with the alien expression John had pictured earlier. John might have been disappointed, if it weren’t for the faint edge of panic in the corners of his eyes. “A colleague of mine insisted that I take such a picture with you, or else he wouldn’t let me in on the case of the serial suicides, despite the fact that he knows he couldn’t possibly solve the case by himself and could cost dozens of people their lives, but he’s stubborn and enjoys having a chance to irritate me for some incomprehensible yet likely inane reason.” John couldn’t stop himself from gaping, either at the rate the words poured out of the man’s mouth – when did he _breathe_ , for God’s sake? – or, when the man opened his coat to pull out his phone, at the glimpse of deep, thirsty purple shirt torturing the line of buttons leading down from his delicious-looking collarbone. (He briefly contemplated alleviating those poor buttons’ suffering before he could rein in his libido, but the thought still dried out his mouth and made his heart pound dizzily in his chest.) “Damn,” the obliviously ogled man sighed with relief. “My phone appears to only have the one camera. And without a mirror in sight!”

“Here,” John offered, drawing those wide, fathomless (and now, slightly alarmed) eyes to him. He pulled out his own phone and gestured to the camera the man’s phone apparently lacked. “We can use mine, then I can text the picture to you. I’ll delete the number afterwards, promise.” He was desperately curious, not only about why he had been of such interest to this man and his colleague, but also about the bit with the suicides, but he figured he shouldn’t press his luck. The bloke stared at the outstretched phone for a moment before nodding sharply. John opened a new contact, entered the other man’s number as it was recited dully at him, put “Bloke” in the blank for a name, then went to his camera.

“I’m surprised you didn’t set my name as Mr. Uptown Cheekbones,” the man snarked quietly, and John nearly dropped his phone in his haste to whip around and face him.

“How in Hell did you know I’d called you that?” he demanded.

“Elementary, really: I know how that particular phone’s keyboard is laid out, and not only are you not a particularly subtle typist, you are actually exceedingly slow, even by what I imagine an average person’s estimation. It was hardly difficult at all to read your texts as you sent them; the more difficult issue was deduce the texts your four other friends sent you, but with a face as expressive as yours, even that was hardly a challenge for me. The only thing that puzzles me is your own descriptions of me. Besides the nonsensicality of your ‘Mr. Uptown Cheekbones’, you both insulted and complimented me a number of times, and somehow seemed to think that I was involved in something called ‘X-Files’, which makes absolutely zero sense to me, so I assume it was a pop culture reference.”

John blinked. Then, because the man was still standing in front of him, he blinked again. When he was still there, he decided he was not, in fact, dreaming a particularly vivid fever dream or hallucinating from some drug someone had slipped him without his notice. “That was…amazing,” he managed finally.

“Really?”

“Of course, that was extraordinary to the point of disbelief,” John said honestly, charmed a great deal (more than he already was) when a slight pink tinge rose up on those cheekbones that had first struck his attention. Did no one really ever compliment this man on his brain?

He received his answer when the man muttered, “That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off.” They both laughed at that, but John felt a wave of sympathy for this incredible man. His brain obviously worked a mile a minute without any extra energy left over for a filter, but John honestly couldn’t say he minded. He lived with his drunk father for the first couple decades of his life, his drunk sister for the last couple years since he’s come back from Afghanistan, not to mention the brutally honest years of uni and the even harsher years in the Army in between the two. He’s used to being around people who don’t particularly care about sparing his feelings, and at least this man isn’t slurring as he speaks.

“Well, I’m not telling you to piss off, so let’s take this picture, send it to your colleague and my friends so they won’t be a pain for either of us, then you can tell me what else is so clearly elementary about me while we wait for this bloody thing to get us where we’re going.” He smiled his most winning smile up at him, unable to help the hint of flirtatiousness that entered his tone, unwilling to care. “My name’s John, by the way, in case you hadn’t guessed.”

“I never guess,” he snapped in reply, then, slowly, considering, softened. “Sherlock.”

“What?”

“I do despise repeating myself, John,” he drawled, and John couldn’t help the slight (for lack of better word) tingle that went down his spine at the sound of that smooth baritone saying his name. “My name is Sherlock.”

“Sherlock?” John echoed, eyes wide. “Who in God’s name gives their kid the name ‘Sherlock’?”

“It could have been worse,” Sherlock shrugged. “My older brother’s name is Mycroft.” John hooted with laughter before he could stop himself, but at Sherlock’s soft, almost cautious, smile in return, he decided to just keep laughing.

“That sounds pretentious and irritating,” he chuckled.

“Which is about as good a summary of my brother as you can get,” Sherlock nodded decisively, and John allowed himself another snort of laughter before slinging an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders. “What –?”

“Have to be close together in order to fit in the frame,” John reasoned, opening his phone again (and ignoring the total anarchy that was his text inbox). It was also a pretty damn good excuse to get inside this _Sherlock_ ’s personal space, see what a _Sherlock_ smelled like, felt like – not that John was nearly as creepy as he was sure that sounded. “Smile, Mr. Uptown Cheekbones.” He felt the man beside him stiffen up even as the face on the screen’s eyes flashed and mouth dropped open – at which point John snapped the button. He looked at the picture, pleased that this Sherlock looked appropriately like the strangely endearing creature he’d found, before he sent it on to him.

“What does that even mean?” Sherlock whinged, and John just smiled blithely and sat again, gesturing to the seat across from him.

“How about you explain to me what that genius mind of yours sees?” he asked in response, and, huffing like a teenager, Sherlock sat across from him and began.

They sat there for another twenty minutes, Sherlock deducing John’s entire history, then the histories of his friends, then the history of the passengers of the car they sat in, John complimenting him almost on automatic across from him the whole way. John never tired of seeing how exquisitely pleased this great bloody man looked when another “fantastic!” slipped from John’s lips, nor of how desperately he seemed to want to hide away the expression. Sherlock seemed to never tire of talking to John, putting the world he saw into words another would appreciate – not just use, or begrudgingly accept, but truly _enjoy_ – for what appeared to be the first time in his recollection. Even after the Tube started up again, Sherlock kept talking, about bees, about toxicology, about tobacco ash, and John never believed he could find any of those things so marvelously fascinating until he heard Sherlock speak.

In time, John came upon his stop, and he stood and – because it felt right – offered his hand. “I know you’ll know I’m telling the truth when I say that it’s been a real pleasure, Sherlock.” Sherlock looked down at the hand, an unreadable expression crossing his face before it straightened back into its customary lines.

He took the offered hand and shook it, grip firm and almost lingering. “I know you’ll know how rare it is for me to truthfully reply that the feeling is mutual, John.”

“Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet again,” John offered, already wishing for it to happen, but Sherlock simply huffed a laugh and tightened his grip.

“You’d better hope not, I think,” he replied. “I hardly ever go out except to work, and I solve murders for a living.” John laughed, even as his heart sank sluggishly in his chest.

“Then this is goodbye, then,” he said as the doors slid open behind him.

“Obviously,” Sherlock snapped, apparently as a reflex, because he softened to add, “Goodbye, John.”

John pulled his hand away, turned away, and walked out at his stop. He didn’t look back, but he did immediately pull out his phone and send the picture and a simple text to his friends, hoping Sherlock could read his text at this distance.

(And if he waited until he was back home before he allowed to open his contact info for him and replace “Bloke” to “Sherlock” – knowing full well he would never delete the profile – well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.)

[Group Chat – **John** , Mike, Molly, Bill, Sarah]

_12:55 PM_

His name is Sherlock, and he’s the most incredible person I have ever met

_12:56 PM_

What? – Sarah

_12:56 PM_

what – Mike

_12:57 PM_

What happened? – Molly

_12:57 PM_

i’ll try not to take that personally ;) - Bill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left when they finally get it together - I might push it back to an E rating then, but it will really depend on my muse. Keep tuned!


	4. Big Brolly Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't stop thinking about John. Wonder why?  
> John can stop thinking about Sherlock, but he doesn't really want to. Wonder why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this wasn't supposed to be nearly 10K. This wasn't supposed to have surprise smut, and then have next to no smut. This wasn't supposed to have surprise Mystrade, but oops. This wasn't supposed to be any of the things it now is. *shrugs*  
> I'm sorry about the wait, but I had trouble finding out how to end this. I don't know that I'm exactly satisfied, but eh. It's not gonna get much better just sitting in my head.

Sherlock did not spare a single moment’s thought about John after he got off the Tube. Why should he, when he had an ongoing experiment in eel eyes, human eyes, and newt eyes, the conclusion of the case with the green ladder to devote the appropriate attention to, and a brand new case of serial suicides to contemplate? The man was a fairly amusing distraction during the nightmare that was forced enclosure in public transportation – surely a hellhole for those who _didn’t_ see, smell, and hear the evidence condemning it, and doubly so for he, who did – but he was a matter of the past now, a world away.

If only Lestrade would stop bloody _talking_ about him!

“So you’re saying that not only did he not punch you in the face when you deduced him, but he asked for more?” he giggled into his coffee as Sherlock hovered over the farcically dressed, adulterous media worker who couldn’t have _possibly_ committed suicide of her own will, and how was that not _obvious_? “Why in God’s name did you let him get away?”

“First of all, Lestrade, you seem to be under the impression that he was some sort of rare creature worth capturing and preserving for the rest of time, not a human being who was likely more relieved at having a distraction other than his insipid friends. Second, the only people who have ever punched me about my deductions were criminals and Anderson, and John had neither the criminal background nor the rampant masculinity issues that they had to deduce. Third, we are at a crime scene, and I’m trying to solve what I am more than fairly certain is a murder case, as opposed to the suicide you lot seem so focused upon. Could you please focus instead of obsessing over some nobody I met on the Tube?”

“You remembered his name.” Sherlock just managed to stop himself from throwing his magnifying glass at Lestrade, deigning to only glare over his shoulder.

“I remember everything,” he shot back. “Were you even listening to anything else I said?”

“What’s my first name?” Lestrade demanded, and Sherlock huffed and forced himself upright.

“Geoff, of course.”

“No.”

“Gavin.”

“No.”

“Graham.”

“No.”

“Godfrey.”

“Hell, no! And now you’re just guessing!”

“I never guess,” Sherlock replied loftily. “I simply narrowed it down to the most likely candidates, seeing as I never heard your actual first name.”

“For God’s sake!” Lestrade exclaimed. “You and I have been working together for a little over five years, I’ve been dating your brother for almost half of that –” (“Don’t remind me,” Sherlock moaned, which Lestrade studiously ignored) “and my first name is on my desk as well as half of the IDs you keep lifting off of me! If you wanted to remember my first name, Sherlock, you bloody well would. But this John bloke spends less than an hour with you on the Tube, and suddenly you remember his name perfectly. I know far better than to believe that I fully know or even slightly understand you, Sherlock, but even I know how completely and utterly bizarre that is.” He took a breath and continued in a softer tone. “I don’t know who John is to you, Sherlock, but he sure as Hell isn’t nobody.”

It was a well-established fact that Sherlock Holmes handled emotion about as well as Sherlock Holmes handled any other pesky intrusion that interfered with The Work, so Lestrade made it a point not to sigh or throw a fit when the detective began rattling off his deductions in lieu of responding to the previous statement. He did have a job to do, after all, and forcing Sherlock to do anything never resulted with happy endings for anyone. He pointed out the irrationality of Sherlock’s behavior, and if there was anything Sherlock hated more than boredom, it was irrationality. John wasn’t getting deleted anytime soon, Lestrade was positive.

And if Sherlock paused at the end of his deduction, as if waiting for the echo of a compliment once given, Lestrade said nothing.

[Text Conversation: **Sherlock** , John]

_~~3:37 AM~~ _ ~~~~

~~What does Uptown Cheekbones mean?~~

message unsent

_~~3:49 AM~~ _ ~~~~

~~Why am I the most incredible person you’ve ever met?~~

message unsent

_~~3:58 AM~~ _ ~~~~

~~Why can’t I delete you?~~

message unsent

* * *

 

John tried to put Sherlock out of his mind. No, really. Honestly. Sure, maybe he didn’t quite get around to deleting his number or his picture from his phone, but he was a busy guy. He had tons of stuff on his phone he didn’t need any more. And maybe he picked up his first newspaper in longer than he cared to admit to read about those serial suicides he’d mentioned, but it’s natural to want to know more about what’s causing so much death in his own city. It wasn’t like he was scouring the article for Sherlock’s name or anything weird like that. And fine, so maybe he wondered throughout the next day about how much more Sherlock really saw, but when coming across such a singular individual, it’s no wonder that he stuck just that little bit in his head. He truly was fantastic, after all.

(And what a man thought about when he and his right hand were alone together was his own damn business, thank you very much.)

All the same, John spent the entirety of the next day trying – and failing – to put the man out of his mind. Fortunately for him, his sister was quite adept at putting everything else out of his mind. Unfortunately, she usually replaced that everything else with heart-stopping worry, boiling frustration, and boundless exasperation, and this case was no different.

“For fuck’s sake, Harry!” he exclaimed as he stepped into the tiny flat he’s been sharing with her. He dropped the groceries in the armchair by the door and rushed to kneel over his big sister, who was currently passed out in a pool of her own vomit. For the fifth time in the last two weeks. He checked her pulse and reactivity to make sure she was just smashed, and, shaking his head against his knotted stomach, he hauled her up. Stumbling slightly under the dead weight, he dragged her the three feet from the kitchen into her bedroom and deposited her on the bed with as much grace and gentleness as he could manage (that was, not much). “This can’t keep happening, Harry,” he sighed and kissed her forehead, fully aware that would have gotten him slapped if she were at all conscious and not really caring. Harriet Jane Watson may have been the eldest Watson, but John was the one who was always looking out for her, not the other way around. In fact, his earliest memory was cleaning up the milk his sister had spilled in her haste to go play with her friends so their parents wouldn’t yell at her. John was the one who Harry came out to first, sure, but John was also the one who took the fall three weeks later when a half-naked girl had been found in their house at night, even though she was Harry’s girlfriend, not John’s. Even now, almost all of John’s army pension was paying for the flat, even though Harry’s job could have easily paid for the whole thing.

That were, if it weren’t for the drinking, the divorce, and the distinct lack of interest in paying rent.

John knew he wasn’t doing her any favors by staying with her, paying her rent and helping her whenever she was too drunk or hungover to do it herself, but he just didn’t have enough money to get a flat by himself, and he was extremely wary of trying to get a flatmate. Ever since things had fallen through with Sarah, she and Molly had become thick as thieves, which meant both were out of the picture. Mike was moving in with his girlfriend of a year in only a few weeks when she moved back to London, and Bill knew that John moving into another flat would mean that he wouldn’t get to see Harry anymore, so neither would be of any help. And that was the grand sum of his friends he’d kept since he’d been deployed and sent back to London.

Harry snuffled a little in her sleep, shaking John out of his thoughts. He was stuck here until one of the half-dozen clinics he’d applied to accepted him. Then he could get Harry into rehab and pay for this completely rubbish flat himself. Until then, he needed to care for his sister, which meant cleaning up vomit, setting out paracetamol and water for his sister, and putting up the groceries. “And, apparently, buying more milk!” John finished the thought aloud, seeing the spilt carton on the ground where he’d dropped it. Huffing against the migraine building up behind his eyes, he mopped up the combined mess on the floor, set out the medicine, and stomped back out to get more milk.

He’d completely forgotten anything weird had ever happened to him until the third pay phone rang, just as he happened to be passing it.

* * *

 

_Sherlock paced the halls of his Mind Palace, panicked and confused at the name plastered to the walls._

_John. John. John. John. John._

_It was such a simple name, only four letters, one syllable, one bloody name. It was the name of royalty, it was the name of peasants. It was the name of nobody at all, it was everyone’s name._

_John. John. John. John. John._

_It was a virus, it was a puzzle, it was a plague, it was a panacea. It was a man, a man who could not have been a man because men did not act like he did._

_John. John. John. John. John._

_It should have been driving him wild, a murder – possibly_ several _murders – staged as suicides, but he couldn’t see in his own mind because of the irrationality of his own thoughts._

_John. John. John. John. John._

_He knew the Work could not be done in such complete chaos, wondered if maybe a needle – NO! No, this was not a seven percent question; it did not require a similar solution. This…_

_John. John. John. John. John._

_There was something special about this man, something that drew him to his memory. He needed to know what it was about that four-letter man that brought twenty-six letter thoughts._

_John…_

* * *

 

“What exactly is your relation with Sherlock Holmes?” the tall man with the umbrella asked, and John nearly laughed aloud. From the moment he’d picked up that bloody pay phone, he wondered if talking to Sherlock the night before had opened the floodgates for the weird in his life. Apparently, he was right.

“Is that his last name?” he asked, rather than answer. “I don’t typically ask for the surnames of random blokes I meet on the Tube.”

“Do you normally take pictures with them?”

“Yeah, you want one?” John cheered mentally when the fat bastard’s smug, superior smile soured, setting his face in the blandest expression he could manage.

“Be warned, Dr. Watson,” the man (who John, deciding he liked giving these weirdos appropriate nicknames, began mentally calling Big Brolly Brother) threatened. “I am not a man one should trifle with.”

_With whom one should trifle_ , John commented in his head, but he decided not to push his luck _too_ far. “Who are you, then?”

“An interested party,” Big Brolly Brother replied, smug smile back in place and blissfully unaware of his new nickname. “And the closest thing Sherlock’s got to a friend.”

“What’s that?”

“An enemy.”

“An enemy?” John asked, wondering if he ought to just punch Big Brolly Brother in the face and risk running for it. He’d just about maxed out his capacity for handling odd that day.

“In his mind, certainly. If you would ask him, he’d probably say his archenemy,” he elaborated. “He’s always been so dramatic.”

“Well, thank goodness you’re above all that,” John observed, grinning slightly, then frowning as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

[Text Coversation: **John** , Sherlock]

_8:37 PM_

221B Baker Street.

Come at once if convenient.

\- SH

“I hope I’m not distracting you,” Big Brolly Brother commented lightly.

“You’re not distracting me at all,” John added casually, trying not to let his surprise and, oddly enough, pleasure shine through. He takes his time putting up his phone, hoping he looks like he’s snubbing the smart arse rather than trying not to grin like an idiot over a text from a stranger.

“Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?”

Did he? “I could be wrong…but I think that’s none of your business.”

“It could be,” Big Brolly Brother snapped back, and plans or not, John _really_ wanted to punch this chav in the jaw and take his chances with his escape.

“It really couldn’t,” he said instead, impressed with his own self-restraint.

Big Brolly Brother took out a notebook from his inside pocket, and began speaking as he leafed through it. “If you do choose to resume your acquaintance with Mr. Holmes, I’d be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money to ease your way.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not a wealthy man, and, if you pardon my saying so, your sister is not in good health.”

“In exchange for what?” John asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew.

“Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you’d feel…uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.” And yep, Big Brolly Brother was much more predictable than he seemed to think he was. John would have laughed if he didn’t still feel like throttling him over the comment about Harry.

“Why?”

“I worry about him. Constantly.”

“That’s nice of you,” John scoffed, just about ready to storm out, fuck the consequences.

“But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship.” _No shit, Big Brolly Brother_ , John thought. His phone buzzed again, and he pulled it out to find another text from Sherlock.

[Text Coversation: **John** , Sherlock]

_8:40 PM_

If inconvenient, come anyway.

\- SH

“No,” John answered, trying to hold onto his indignation and anger despite the laugh that bubbled up at the text.

“I haven’t mentioned a figure,” Big Brolly Brother smirked.

“Don’t bother,” he responded, only further infuriated at the chuckle that got from the other man.

“You’re awful loyal, awfully quickly.”

“No, I’m not, just…not interested.”

“Aren’t you?” Big Brolly Brother asked with a pointed glance at John’s phone, that he hadn’t even realized was still in his hand.

“Are we done?” John asked abruptly, feeling his temper reach its tipping point.

“You tell me.” John stared him down for a moment, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t punch this twat just on principle, before he turned on his heel and marched back towards the car that brought him here and the gorgeous chick who’d brought him here. His phone buzzed once again, and John glanced at it before getting in the car.

[Text Coversation: **John** , Sherlock]

_8:42 PM_

Or should I have signed my texts like this?

\- Mr. Uptown Cheekbones

Safely in the car, John allowed himself to laugh. Whether bloody Big Brolly Brother was involved with this Sherlock Holmes bloke or not, there was no doubt in John’s mind that he wasn’t escaping from this particular world anytime soon. He wondered whether he was going insane when he was more pleased at the thought than terrified.

* * *

 

[Text Conversation: **Greg** , Mycroft]

_8:45 PM_

Hey, are you coming home soon?

_8:45 PM_

On my way now.

_8:45 PM_

I just met Sherlock’s “friend” from the Tube.

_8:46 PM_

John?

_8:46 PM_

Dr. John H. Watson, formerly of RAMC, yes.

_8:47 PM_

An army doctor, huh? Sherlock didn’t mention that part.

_8:47 PM_

No, I would imagine he didn’t.

_8:47 PM_

I don’t want to know.

_8:47 PM_

Yes, you do.

_8:48 PM_

Yeah, I do. What was he like? Did he charm your pants off too?

_8:48  PM_

‘Cause I’d have to beat him up if he did

_8:48 PM_

Actually, he seemed more inclined toward acting as insolent as possible.

_8:49 PM_

So…Sherlock’s soul mate, then?

_8:49 PM_

Seriously, Myc, details!

_8:50 PM_

He refused my offer of money in exchange for information.

_8:50 PM_

You’ve got to stop offering that deal to everyone he comes into contact with

_8:50 PM_

It brought me into contact with you, didn’t it?

_8:50 PM_

Well, yeah. Can’t have you meeting someone better, can I?

_8:51 PM_

Not possible, Gregory.

_8:51 PM_

In any case, I think Sherlock texted him while we spoke

_8:51 PM_

Yeah?

_8:52 PM_

He’s headed to Baker Street as we speak

_8:52 PM_

Any chance I can lure you away from surveillance tonight?

_8:52 PM_

You’d have to be fairly persuasive, Gregory Lestrade

_8:53 PM_

I think I can manage, Mycroft Holmes

_8:53 PM_

I’ll be home in seven minutes

* * *

 

Sherlock paced the floor of Baker Street, studiously ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s prattling on about something or other in the background and choosing instead to focus solely on the street below him. He’d not received a reply from John, so he wasn’t very optimistic about his arrival, but he could hardly work on the case without solving this little enigma first.

Oh, he’d tried to focus, looking for the pink case that must have been somewhere close to the crime scene, but his concentration was elsewhere. He knew he couldn’t find it in this state of mind, but with the rubbish bins in that area being picked up the next day, he knew tonight was the last chance he’d have for clarity before the case went cold. He needed John to show up tonight.

Sherlock can’t remember the last time he’d needed someone, and not for lack of trying.

He snapped out of his reverie at the sight of a black car pulling up to the curb, and nearly pulled his hair out in frustration. The very last thing he needed was his bloody brother poking his fat nose into his business again. Sherlock spun away from the window, snarling, and swung around to collapse on the sofa on his back. If it was a choice between seeing Mycroft or the _John_ -covered walls of his Mind Palace…Well, with another nicotine patch, he should be fine.

“Ooh, sounds like someone for you, Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson cooed. “Another client, or that nice police officer who’s dating your brother, maybe?”

“It’s Mycroft,” Sherlock said, fighting uphill against the disorder in his mind. “Don’t let him in.”

“Well, that’s not very nice, Sherlock,” she chided, already headed for the door. “Family is all we have in the end, you know.”

“So you remind me on a daily basis,” he replied into the empty room. Angry at his rebellious mind, he closed his eyes and pressed a third nicotine patch on, sighing heavily at the resultant rush.

“So this is where a Sherlock lives,” an unexpected voice said in the suddenly not-empty room, and Sherlock bolted upright. He swung around, wide-eyed as the noise in his head shut down to a single note. _John_.

“John.” He blinked a few times before making sense of the mass of questions and observations pouring through his skull. “You didn’t walk, did you?”

“Thought you’d have been able to tell, honestly,” John chuckled, and, after glancing questioningly at Sherlock for permission, walked fully into the room and began looking around.

“I’m not omniscient, John,” he reprimanded to hide the inexplicable happiness at seeing him again. “I was simply curious why I didn’t hear a cab pull up.”

“I actually didn’t take a cab,” John replied, choosing to sit in the red armchair Mycroft usually chose when he came round. Sherlock found that he liked it immensely more now that John was sitting there. “This bloke basically kidnapped me. It was his car that brought me here. He said he was your archenemy?”

Sherlock swore and strode across the room to send his brother a very profane text. “Bloody Mycroft,” he mumbled, and John looked at him slantwise.

“Wait, didn’t you say Mycroft was your brother’s name?” he asked, confusion wrinkling his brow.

“I’m frankly surprised you remember that,” Sherlock murmured, typing one last “fuck off” for good measure before returning his full attention to the man sitting in front of him.

“Well, cheers, we only met yesterday,” John replied mildly. “I think I can hold onto basic conversation topics that long.”

“Fascinating.”

“It’s really not.” And Sherlock stopped. John was right; it really wasn’t, but everything about this man was captivating, even the most basic characteristics. Not that he could come out and say that, though.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, smiling slightly. “Although I shan’t take it back. I believe that after last night, the balance of compliments is skewed rather heavily towards your end.”

“As it should be,” John said, and before Sherlock could contest that, he added, “So why am I here? I take it’s not just to balance out the number of compliments between us.”

“No,” Sherlock said slowly. “Although before I explain why I did invite you here, I must warn you ahead of time that I am not, nor have I ever been, a ‘people person’. I mean no offense nor harm to you, and I ask you to allow me to explain myself fully instead of jump to conclusions prematurely.”

“I don’t offend easily, and, as you noticed last night, I was a soldier. I’m not afraid of you,” John replied easily. “I think I can handle whatever you tell me.”

Sherlock nodded, took a deep breath, and begun. “You are an extraordinary person, John, of that you should have no doubt. Although it is true that I did not come here to balance the scales, as it were, have no mistake that I believe that they should be at some point. I am not an easy man to get along with. I play the violin when I’m thinking, and sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. I would be, for lack of a better word, a nightmare as a flatmate, which is why I’ve never tried to find one, even though doing so would be more financially beneficial for me. However, I believe you could prove an ideal candidate for the position. I like you, as strange as that is for me to recognize; the only other person I can say with any certainty that I ‘like’ is the landlady. You seemed to give every indication of liking me last night, and you seemed to enjoy my deductions, which, as I mentioned before, are widely considered more of a nuisance than a thing of awe. I happen to know you dislike living with your sister, both because of the financial strain and because you believe she ought to be in a rehabilitation shelter, which, speaking as a past substance user, I have to agree. Living here would free up a considerable amount of money so you could live with her. Finally, I find that I do not think as clearly without you, strange as that is since we’ve only met last night, but it is true. I multitask quite well, but not with mysteries. You, John, are a mystery to me, so I can solve nothing else unless you are with me. This could prove fatal to a number of people, including the future targets of the serial killer who has been posing his victims as serial suicides. So, you see, there is quite a bit for you to gain if you move in with me, and quite a lot for London to lose if you don’t.”

Sherlock arrived at the end of his speech, and sat expectantly looking to John, who looked rather like he’d been bludgeoned with a cricket bat. Seven seconds passed (Sherlock counted) before John burst out laughing.

At Sherlock’s affronted look, John tried speaking over his laughter. “No, no, no. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just –” A fresh bout of laughter shook him, and despite the insult rolling in his stomach, he felt his cheek twitch slightly. The man’s laughter was contagious. Once he calmed down again, he continued, smiling widely, “I have never in my life heard anyone say so many things so quickly.”

“Did you have difficulty understanding me?” Sherlock asked, suddenly anxious.

“A few of the finer points might have slipped through, but you’re asking me to be your flatmate, right?”

“That would be correct. There is a room upstairs, although I suppose I could move out of my room on this floor, should the extra stairs be of trouble.” A flash of intrigue shone in the shorter man’s eyes, and infuriating hope bubbled up in his stomach.

“I think I can handle an extra few stairs,” John said, and the bubbles in his stomach caught fire at his smile.

* * *

 

John had dated a lot of women in his past, partly to hide the attraction he felt to some of the men in his life, partly because he happened to _really_ like sex. As a common dater, he’d experienced a rather varied number of reasons for being kissed, some of which he’d never truly pinpointed. However, despite the number of reasons, he can’t say he’d ever been kissed for saying that he could climb stairs.

Then again, he’s never kissed a man before, so maybe there are a new set of rules.

Then Sherlock’s teeth scraped along his bottom lip, and John stopped thinking about why he was being kissed and started wondering how much father he could push this.

When Sherlock murmured, “Bed,” against John’s lips and started pulling at his jumper, he got his answer. He reached down to grope the fantastic arse, and, feeling like showing off wouldn’t be too out of place, lifted. Sherlock grunted in surprise, then wonder, as John started carrying him in the direction he thought the bedroom would be. “It’s the door – _ah_ – at the end of the hall,” he gasped, grinding down as John moved his attention to his neck.

John deposited Sherlock on the bed (not as gently as he wanted to, since he wasn’t twenty anymore, but if Sherlock’s gasp was anything to judge by, he didn’t seem to mind) and stood. “I think we could do with less clothes,” he commented, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

* * *

 

_John. John. John. John. John._

_Where once there was confusion and panic, now there was only desperation and need. It was glorious, and Sherlock wanted more._

_John. John. John. John. John!_

_The clutter seemed to glow in Sherlock’s mind – sentimental nonsense, certainly, but caring sure as hell seemed like an advantage with three fingers attacking his prostate._

_John! John! John! John! John!!!_

_He’d build a whole wing for this man – a tower, each floor a different part of him, a different experience. It would soar as high as Sherlock was capable of imagining – so, very high._

_John!!! John!!! John!!! John!!! JOHN!!!_

_There was no letting go now, he knew. He wouldn’t allow this man who could do so much with so little slip out of his life. He was addicted, now. And, oh, how sweet the craving._

_JOHN!!! JOHN!!! JOHN!!! JOHN!!! **JOHN!!!**_

**_JOHN!!!_**

* * *

 

“Well, goddamn.” John panted into Sherlock’s shoulder, surprised when he suddenly tensed.

“Not good?” came the low inquiry, and John frowned over at his new lover.

“I’m not sure if I can qualify the orgasm of my life as ‘good’, to be honest,” he replied, deciding on lightheartedness. He had a feeling earnestness would be misconstrued as platitudinous. “‘Fantastic’, maybe. ‘Brilliant’, surely. ‘Glorious’, absolutely.” He felt Sherlock nip at his ear, grinning.

“You were, too, you know,” he responded, sounding a little unsure of himself.

“Ta. You want to get cleaned up and go back to bed, or should we stay up and wait for Round Two? It’ll be daylight in a bit.” Without warning, John found himself on his side and alone in bed, and Sherlock grabbing for his clothes and cursing rapidly to himself.

“I’m on a case, I really shouldn’t have spent this much time with you, I need to go find a suitcase before the rubbish is picked up.”

“You want some help?” Just as suddenly as Sherlock whipped into motion, he halted abruptly.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“It’ll probably be smelly, gruesome, and intrusive.”

“Okay.”

“It’s to do with the murders,” he added, hesitantly.

“I’d love to help however I can,” John assured him.

“You mean that.”

“Yep.” Sherlock stood blinking at him for several more seconds.

“We’ll need to shower first.”

“You go first, I’m not sure I trust myself alone with you in a shower yet,” he grinned. Sherlock flushed ruby for the second time that night (and yep, John was _not_ going to get sick of that anytime soon) and darted into the bathroom. Once he heard the shower running, he grabbed his trousers from the floor and pulled out his phone, fully intending to look up a rehab clinic for Harry. Instead, he smiled and opened the group text.

[Group Chat – **John** , Mike, Molly, Bill, Sarah]

_3:51 AM_

So, guess who just slept with Mr. Uptown Cheekbones?

“What does that even mean?” Sherlock called out from the bathroom. John smiled mischievously at his phone before joining Sherlock in the shower to tell him.

And maybe - if he was lucky - to try out Round Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I can't write smut. I mean, I could, but this was long enough anyway. I hoped you enjoyed it anyway!

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr! I'm @ jarvelus.tumblr.com ;-)


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